


What Do Stars Do?

by Morbid_Hatter



Category: Stardust (2007), Stardust - Neil Gaiman, Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: An Assortment of Witchers and Sorceresses and Royalty, Gratuitous Usage of the Stardust Script, I Took Canon and Shot It Into The Sun, Like...seriously, M/M, Mention of Foltest and his fuckery, Stardust AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:41:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28614510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morbid_Hatter/pseuds/Morbid_Hatter
Summary: Stardust AUVernon Roche makes a promise to a beautiful girl that he will help her - even if Triss doesn't want him the way he wants her, he comes up with a plan to keep unwanted suitors off her back. His crazy plan? They can become betrothed before he goes to report for duty. His insane plan? To prove his commitment to this plan, he vows to cross The Wall to find a fallen star as a symbol of his commitment.He expected to find a hunk of shiny rock. Instead, he meets an angry and injured star, several power-hungry sorceresses, a collection of Witchers and their bard, a few members of the Royal Family, and his mother.He does this all while falling in love and finding a place where he belongs - as long as vengeful princes and wicked sorceresses don't take it all away before he can realize he has it.
Relationships: Iorveth/Vernon Roche
Comments: 13
Kudos: 16





	1. Prologue

Once upon a time…

It sounds so trivial, the age-old beginning to fairy tales, but it’s tradition to start a fairy tale with those four words. And Temeria is nothing if not traditional. 

The traditions are not old. Or, more accurately, they are old but have been updated to blend the Northern Kingdoms together. It hadn’t been easy to walk the line between keeping tradition with the Old Kingdoms and building a new single Kingdom out of the crumbled pieces of the fallen countries. 

Our tale, friends, starts in the throne room of the Temerian King, Medell, as he paced in front of his court, wondering what he was supposed to do now. By luck of having the largest kingdom (not by land size, that honor went to Old Kaedwen) with the largest army, most central location, and easily defendable capital, Temeria was now the official seat of power for the North. Medell was a strategic mind and used to creating strong military strategies, but that wasn’t what had destroyed the North. 

No, that honor fell to the backhanded plots and political schemes. Medell knew he and Sancia didn’t escape the conflict with clean hands; they had done what they had to for Temeria, for their people, for their son - but it didn’t ease the guilt. 

Medell listened with one ear to the heated debate going on at the table not ten feet from him. He knew this type of conversation should retire to the War Room, his Court bard was sitting in the window strumming some sad tune for fuck’s sake, but he couldn’t voice the idea. He didn’t _want to_. The idea of stepping back into the War Room so soon was enough for him to feel sick. 

Instead, they argued the fate of the realms in full view of anyone who would come through the throne room with the warm sunlight streaming through the high windows. 

“- the stones say Nilfgaard is planning an attack,” his court mage, Dethmold said as he slapped his hands against the heavy wooden table to emphasize his point. 

“Fuck your stones, Sorcerer! Fuck your stones and fuck Nilfgaard! They would have to cross the mountains and then get through Cintra before they get to us! What we need to do is figure out what to do with the leftover rabble,” the young General, John Natalis, shouted over the mage. 

_Always the mind of a soldier,_ Medell thought. Though, he figured, he wasn’t wrong. The Mountains were treacherous at best and Cintra was one of the only kingdoms not to dissolve under political strife. Dagorad had not come to the Moot (if one could even call it a Moot) but sent his regards and promises that he would honor their treaty but would not be part of the New Kingdom. 

“John, Dethmold, you’re both right,” Medell spoke softly but his voice carried throughout the hall all the same. He had grown up knowing how to be heard, how to make people listen to him. “Something has to be done about Nilfgaard before they come knocking at our door. The emperor,” he spat the word out as if it pained him to say it, “Fergus var Emreis has enough on his plate at the moment, but sooner or later he will be a problem. The more pressing issue is what to do about them.” He gestured to the door that led to the antechamber where six terrified children were waiting for the Moot to pass judgement on them. 

“We are, all of us, responsible for six heirs being parentless. We agree they cannot rule. Gods, Meve is only six. But we cannot let them out of our sights. Children with that much weight on their shoulders are susceptible to all sorts of manipulation. We are too soon out of the frying pan to jump into the fire,” he continued as a plan began to formulate in his mind. 

“We should just kill them,” Dethmold stated his cold voice void of emotion. “They won’t be a problem if they’re dead.” 

Medell sucked in a breath through his clenched teeth and suppressed a full-body shiver. “You are not a father, Dethmold. You cannot understand how much that suggestion repulses me. I can only do for them what I would wish someone would do for Foltest and Adda found themselves in the same situation as those children.

“We are building a new North, gentlemen. We cannot continue on the same path of lies and deceit or we will find ourselves with our head on spikes and Temeria in ruins. I will hear no more talk about murdering children. They will stay here. They will learn alongside my own flesh and blood. Our future is in their hands and we must prepare them for whatever will come.”

Done speaking, he turned on his heel and marched through the doors to the antechamber. The children were huddled together, his own son and daughter among them, careless of the fact their mothers and fathers had been enemies. He knelt in front of the group and held out a hand for each of his children. 

“Foltest, Adda, I have an idea for your friends here. It’s too dangerous for them to be sent to their homes and there’s been quite enough death and sadness for my tastes. I say we let them stay here and they can be as your brothers and sister.” He didn’t need his children’s permission, but he knew the importance of decision making, and his children needed to feel like they were involved. 

His son looked first to his sister, then to the other children, and straightened his shoulders. “We have to start fresh,” Foltest said with such powerful conviction that pride bloomed through Medell’s chest at his tone. “Everything will be different from now on. We have to set a new precedent of peace or we won’t last and the North will crumble.” 

Adda nodded and reached out for Meve who scurried to her side. The boys followed a beat later, showing their agreement and support. Medell ruffled his children’s hair in fondness and stood. “Then it’s decided. We’ll draft papers to make them official Temerians and heirs.”

Medell shooed the children off to the kitchens for supper and exhaled heavily after they were out of sight. Alone for the moment, he allowed himself to worry. He could see the issues his decision would cause later on down the line, but he wouldn’t, _couldn’t_ , condemn the future of the North. A decision on succession would have to be made soon - when the children were older and aptitude for leadership would blossom. But for now…

…for now, he could breathe a sigh of relief that the worst was behind them and he could work on building a new Kingdom in the ashes of the old ones. 

\----

After years of planning and months of contact between Temeria and Cintra, Medell found himself standing at the edge of a large meadow in the gap between mountain peaks, watching mages harness their chaos magic to build a wall, all of them out of time.

It would be no ordinary wall, he knew. It was a magical barrier, stopping Nilfgaard from invading. It was a good plan, he knew. But the wall was unsettling. It was like some unseen force was pushing him further into the wood at his back, away from the wall. It would stop any travel between the North and the Empire to the south and anyone on the opposite side of the wall would find themselves stranded. That, Medell figured, was the truly unsettling part. He couldn’t help but wonder how many of his people, how many Northerners will be trapped on the wrong side of the wall. 

The mages involved assured him it wouldn’t hurt anything, but they couldn’t tell for sure if it would stop the flow of chaos. Keira Metz had been very vocal about what the severed connection could possibly do to their magic as well as those trapped beyond the wall, but she was outspoken by the rest of the conclave who were more worried about stopping Nilfgaard. Emperor Fergus var Emreis had been murdered and his son an outcast. The Usurper was an unknown and an unpredictable new player, they had run out of time to find another solution. The wall would stand and protect them.

Medell and Sancia stood shoulder to shoulder until the last stone settled in the wall and then ushered all nine children back to the Path to the carriages so they could begin the journey back to Temeria. 

As they walked single file along the fae path (best not to wander off the true path or they’d be lost forever in the forests), Medell could hear the slow melody of his bard’s newest composition drift up to him, the lute and his voice warming the cold feeling of dread that had settled in his chest after the construction of the wall had been completed.

_It wasn’t wars that ravaged the North_

_But backhanded trickery and political plots._

_Till one day the old king said "enough is enough"_

_And stood up and brought all the heirs in at once,_

_Told them "we'll work together while I'm still alive._

_And after I'm dead, whichever has survived_

_Will be the new king to rule in my stead_

_And reign over Temeria till you're old or you're dead."_

The song wasn’t quite how it happened, and succession had yet to be decided, but the bard knew - he always knew. He knew, and watched, and waited for the real story to begin, the one worthy of song and story and legend.


	2. Prologue II

Despite his best efforts, the Kingdom still saw strife. The wall caused the chaos to build and build until it exploded and all but evaporated. It caused no physical damage, except for putting a split in the wall large enough only for a person to slide through. Medell didn't have time to worry about it - there were bigger fish to fry.

Those with natural magic could only access it if they gave years off their life in return. It caused a panic that fractured the Lodge of Sorceresses - the only solution to the lack of chaos magic was to consume the heart of a star and most decided the price was too high.

There were whispers of unrest in the old kingdoms, whispers of civil war. Medell worried that his death would cause deep fractures in the Kingdom, but it would be inevitable. Whilst the people in the North lived long lives, they were not immortal. It had been 20 years since the wall went up and he worried he wouldn't have a plan before old age took him.

No one south of the wall knew any of this. The wall had done its job in separating the Northern Kingdoms of Temeria and Cintra from Nilfgaard.

Garin Roche had been tired. Fighting for Emhyr var Emeris to take his birthright back had been exhausting. Garin joined the army as soon as he was old enough and he had been part of the black and gold juggernaut as it marched up north, reclaiming every inch of Nilfgaard for her true ruler. 

He was tired so when his brigade was discharged, the war finally over, Garin stayed where he was. Wall was as good of a place to settle as any. 

It was a beautiful location, he thought to himself as he bought a small farmstead outside town with his army earnings. Beautiful, but strange. 

He was a commodity according to Wall's alderman; no one new had settled in Wall for generations.

It meant he had a full larder within weeks of moving in. His new neighbors came to see the new face, many of them extolling the virtues of their marriageable daughters while handing over what food they could spare. Not a day went by that someone wasn't stopping by to help him mend the old fence that would serve as a pasture come spring when he would be able to purchase some lambs, or helping him till the ground so he could have a head start for planting season. 

It also meant he knew everything about everyone and nothing about the wall itself other than it was known as The Wall and no one was allowed to cross it. 

One night, tired and pleasantly sore from a hard day's work, Garin didn’t take the road into town to get an ale, instead, he cut across the grass until he got to the meadow which was bisected by The Wall. 

He was greeted by a man, probably closer to his seventies than his sixties, but his eyes were bright and shrewd. "Garin Roche, I was wondering when your curiosity would get the best of you."

Garin didn't bother to wonder about how the old man knew his name, he  _ was  _ the only gossip material in town after all, but he wasn’t entirely comfortable with it. He had spent too long as a nameless soldier to be used to the attention. "Well, I've heard about The Wall but I haven't seen it up close. Why do you guard the gap?"

The old man regarded him with an unreadable expression. "They haven't told you, have they?"

Garin could feel his arms break out in gooseflesh at the old man's cryptic question. "No. What were they meant to tell me?"

The old man leaned against The Wall and sighed heavily. "When I was a young man, no older than you, there was no Wall. Then one day this group of people in strange clothing appeared out of the woods between the mountains and all of a sudden there was this purple light. When it faded, The Wall was up and the air felt different. It was harder to breathe for a long time until we grew accustomed to the heaviness."

Garin frowned. The air didn't feel any heavier to him. It wasn’t hard to breathe, in fact, with the cool breeze coming through the mountains, it was perfectly pleasant. 

"Aye, I can see it in your eyes. It's just fine now. Everything seems back to normal. Except, one night about twenty years ago, there was this noise like the end of the world from beyond The Wall. All of a sudden the ground heaved and split The Wall. It was put there to keep them or us out of the other side. The alderman said no one is to cross the gap in The Wall. Too dangerous."

Garin's frown deepened and he squinted into the growing darkness. All he could see was the meadow and the shadows cast by the mountains that began just beyond the wood. "Has anyone investigated it?"

The old man heaved a sigh of irritation. "Did you get knocked in the head too many times, lad?  _ No one crosses The Wall _ ."

He stood tall with his shoulders straight, every bit the perfect soldier. "I'm not afraid of people in odd clothing or strange lights. We shouldn't be afraid of our own lands."

He was shooed away with the old man's heavy club. "Run along home, Garin Roche. One more word about what's beyond The Wall and I'll have you up in front of the alderman," he growled, still waving the club around in Garin's direction. 

Garin turned to head back into town and towards the tavern. He wanted a drink after the strange encounter until he heard the old man call out "Behave yourself, Garin Roche," and Garin wasn't going to let that go. He was a grown man and a decorated war veteran, he wasn’t a child and he didn’t like being treated like one. 

At the moment before he made a move, he marveled at the quiet town of Wall and how they had never bothered to see why the fuck someone had built a wall in the middle of a field that didn't belong to them. The next moment, he turned back towards The Wall and sprinted through the gap while the old man was relaxed and satisfied with himself. 

Garin felt something shift in the air when he jumped over the gap in The Wall. It was liberating whatever it was. He could hear the old man calling to him to stop and come back, but it was muffled like Garin was underwater. 

Once he crossed the length of the meadow, he stopped at the edge of the wood to look for a path. If there had been people that appeared in the meadow, they had to have come through on a road or a trail, they couldn't just appear by magic.

_ Aha! _

He was entranced by the wood. It felt alive in a way the forests further south couldn't match. They were untouched by war or disaster, flourishing under the watchful stone guardians on either side. He soon came to a fork in the path marked with a wooden sign. 

_ Cintra _

_ Market by The Wall 1 mi.  _

The sign had a crude arrow drawn, pointing to an offshoot of the path going right instead of straight ahead. 

Something in his gut turned his feet to point him in the direction of whatever Market by The Wall was. He decided to trust it, his instincts had yet to lead him astray and he doubted they would fail him now. 

One moment he was in the dark of the wood, the next moment he was stepping into a clearing he hadn’t been able to see until he was in it. He knew it should be strange, but he couldn’t find it in himself to be worried. Instead, he wandered through the marketplace, enchanted by the atmosphere that wouldn’t be out of place at a Beltane festival. 

He stopped in front of a yellow caravan that had a display of delicate-looking flowers. When he got closer he realized they were made of something similar to glass, something that shimmered under the flickering firelight. 

"I don't deal with time-wasters," a harsh and grating voice drawled from the steps that head to the back of the caravan. Worse than the voice was the shrill whistle that followed. "Girl, get over here and tend the stall."

Garin caught a glimpse of a woman who was probably beautiful once upon a time. Her black hair, what he could see of it under a wig fashioned out of thick yarn and bits of cloth, was thin and brittle. Her green eyes were sunken into her wrinkled face and they gleamed with a sort of angry malice that made her look cruel regardless of her frail form. 

The woman walked away towards a lively-looking tavern at the edge of the marketplace, but Garin’s attention was now on a beautiful woman who was looking at him with a smile, her chest on display in a way girls further south didn’t do (it was rumored they wore similar styles in Toussaint but he had never made it out east to confirm the rumors). “See something you like?” she asked, her voice reminiscent of a flute. 

Startled and embarrassed, Garin tore his eyes from her ample cleavage and cleared his throat awkwardly. “Definitely,” he breathed out, awestruck. “I mean, uh, these ones, the white ones. How much?”

She laughed and tapped her finger against her plump lower lip. “They could be the color of your hair, or all your memories before you were three. I can check if you like.” 

Garin couldn’t tell if she was teasing him or not, and he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

Before he could say anything else, she continued. “You don’t want that one anyway.” She plucked a small but intricate blue flower that resembled a lily. “Temerian Lily, it’ll bring you luck.” She tucked it behind his ear and smiled at him again. He noticed her eyes were also green, but rather than angry, they seemed sad. 

“What does that one cost?” he asked, his fingers moving to trace along the flower and his heart hammering in his chest. 

With another tap against her lower lip, she whispered, “this one costs a kiss.” The smell of apple blossoms swirled around him as her white-blonde hair fell over her shoulder. 

He felt himself nod, dazed and enchanted by her fair hair, her emerald eyes, and the almost otherworldly delicate features until he felt her lips brush against his. Garin snapped out of his daze and kissed her back with everything he had. If he never saw her again, he wanted her to have something to remember him by. 

He wrapped his hands around her small waist and tried to bring them closer together but felt resistance. Immediately he released her and opened his mouth to apologize before she silenced him. “I’m a princess, tricked by a witch when I was a child and now I’m her slave. Will you free me?” It sounded like a line, but Garin didn’t care. He knelt by her feet and found a thin silver chain wrapped around her ankle that was tethered to the yellow caravan. Garin took out his hunting knife and folded a bit of the chain so he could pull it tight and cut through it. It gave way under the force of the blade, leaving a section of chain in his hand and the bit around her ankle no longer attached to its tether. 

Before he could even feel a glimmer of triumph, the chain grew and slithered towards the broken bit.  _ Magic _ , he thought as he watched the two ends reattach like there had never been a break in the first place. He looked up at the beautiful blonde and apologized. 

She seemed to have expected the result. “It’s an enchanted chain,” she said with a shrug. “I’ll only be free when she dies.” 

He apologized again and stood so he could at least stand close to offer some comfort. “If I can’t free you, what do you want from me?”

With a wink, she grabbed his hand and pulled him behind the stand and up the stairs into the back of the caravan. 

\----

Later, when he walked back through the gap in the wall with his hair mussed and the Temerian Lily still tucked behind his ear, he wouldn’t be able to recall much of his encounter that was appropriate for public conversation. He wasn’t like other soldiers who spoke loudly to anyone who would listen about every woman they had bedded. 

Garin kept it to himself. He would remember falling between pale thighs, the sweet taste of his skin, the way she had clung to his shoulders and trembled under him, but no one else needed to know how she had felt in his arms. He could still smell apple blossoms when he closed his eyes, could still hear the melodic lilt to her voice. 

It was futile, he knew. Remembering her was bittersweet. It was a moment he would likely never equal again and he was doomed to have only memories and nothing to satisfy the echoing, empty void in his chest. 

Instead, he kept his head down and worked on his land. In the spring he bought a few lambs and traded manual labor for a goat. He planted wheat and potatoes. On a whim, he went to the edge of his land and hammered stakes into the ground, and planted grapes. It would be nice he thought, to retire one day and make wine. The small vineyard wouldn’t be mature enough for nearly twenty years anyway. 

The year progressed slowly. Small town life did that, he noticed. It was a nice change from the fast pace of army camps and the larger cities towards the south where you couldn’t catch your breath. 

A few weeks after Samhain there was a heavy knock at his door. It was late, too late for anything other than an absolute emergency. Garin stood and rushed to the door, tugging on his boots with one hand and opening the door with the other. Instead of any kind of emergency, the old man who guarded the gap in The Wall stood in his doorway with a basket cradled in his arms. “This was left at The Wall for you. Says here, his name is Vernon.” The old man gave him a Look and pushed the basket into his arms before he turned on his heel and began to march back towards his nightly post at the gap. 

Stunned, Garin gently closed the door before he sat down and leaned back against the door. He looked down at the small face of his son. There was no doubt the child was his, he was a perfect blend of Garin and the beautiful princess from beyond The Wall. 

In the basket, there was a scroll tied up with a piece of twine. It was addressed to the baby. He’d keep it for him until he was older until he was brave enough to tell the boy the story of his unconventional heritage. 

As he looked at his son’s face and saw his own eyes look back at him, a surge of protectiveness and love filled his chest. At that moment, he knew he would do anything for the baby looking up at him, reaching out to touch his face. “It’s just you and me, kid. It’s a good fuckin’ thing I have a goat so we can get you fed, huh?”

He closed his eyes and pictured the princess that had captured his heart and smiled to himself when he realized she had given it back to him in the form of his son. 


	3. In Which Vernon Roche Makes a Promise as a King Dies

Eighteen years had passed slowly. And in that time baby Vernon had grown as all children were wont to do, regardless of how their parents wished it wasn’t so. But this isn’t the story of how an infant grew into boyhood, but the story of how Vernon Roche grew to be a man - a much greater challenge altogether - for to achieve it, he must win the heart of his one true love. 

Triss Merigold was as beautiful as her family name suggested. Unlike the other girls in Wall, she had delicate features. Not that the other girls in the village were ugly, but there was something about her fire-red hair, green eyes, and the dusting of freckles across her high cheekbones that set her apart from all the other girls. 

Vernon Roche had been smitten the first time he laid eyes on her. She was new to Wall just like he and his father were, but she had only arrived in the village the previous summer. Every other family had been in Wall since before the Usurper had even taken his first breath of life. (Before Nilfgaard had included Wall if the rumors were true.) Now, Vernon wasn’t usually one to judge, but he could see that the effects of generations of mild inbreeding were starting to take their toll on the young people of Wall. 

It was just something else to make her stand out. 

The rest was just her, just Triss. She was not only beautiful, but she was kind. Whereas everyone else took a perverse amount of glee in calling him a bastard and the son of a whore as soon as his back was turned, she had never done so. It endeared her to him more than almost anything else. 

Once in a great while, he had been allowed to accompany her to her little hut on the other end of town from his father’s farm. She lived there alone, not having any family to live with, and she worked as a healer. She was smart - smarter than anyone he had ever met. 

He hurried down the road with a handful of flowers and a bottle of wine only to be accosted by the biggest asshole in all of Nilfgaard just as he was reaching out to knock on Triss’s door. She had agreed to take an evening stroll with him and Bernard fucking Loredo  _ was not going to ruin this for him _ . 

The flowers he brought were wacked at with the flat part of Loredo’s blade he always kept with him. “Were those for Miss Merigold, whoreson?” Loredo asked, with a mocking frown. 

Vernon ground his teeth together to stop himself from answering, but his notoriously short fuse was reaching its end quickly. 

“So you’re a shop boy by day, and what, a peeping Tom by night? Really, what right do you have to stand outside her door?” he asked while he casually twirled the heavy blade in the air before it came up, quick as lightning, and smacked him across the chest. 

“What the fuck, Loredo?”

“Bernard, that’s enough!”

_ Great, _ Vernon couldn’t help but think to himself.  _ Now she can bear witness to my humiliation. _

Even though he was much smaller than Loredo, something he must have inherited from his mysterious mother since his father was as big as a bulwark, he dived for his knees intent on taking the asshole down into the dirt with him. 

It worked about as well as he expected. While he did manage to get Loredo down on the ground, the bigger man quickly gained the upper hand and had his big, meaty arm pressing down on Vernon’s neck. “You were always useless at wrestling in school, whoreson. Come to think of it, I can’t think of a thing you  _ were  _ good at.” 

“That’s enough, Bernard! And Vernon, I expected more from you,” Triss scolded both of them with her arms folded across her chest and a frown on her beautiful face. 

Loredo shot her a leering wink and hissed a parting threat to Vernon before he let him up. “Come next week, it won’t matter. You’re headed for the capital and I’ll still be here. I wonder if she tastes as good as she looks.” 

When Loredo let up on his neck, Vernon couldn’t help but gasp for breath. Triss knelt next to him and watched to make sure he could sit up on his own before she turned to him and leveled him with a Look. “What was that about? You’re going to get yourself court-martialed as soon as you get there if you’re not careful.” 

“That fucker just -” he cut himself off with a sigh. “You’re right. Sorry, Triss.” He held out the bottle of wine from his father’s vineyard as an apology. 

She rolled her eyes at him and nodded. “Let’s go. You owe me a walk in the moonlight.” 

They didn’t bother with the road, neither wanting to deal with anyone else. Instead, they made their way up to the hill that signaled the edge of Vernon’s father’s farm. They drank straight from the bottle and sat on the grass, watching the sky. “I’ll miss being able to see the stars, I think,” Vernon heard himself confess. “I’ve heard there’s always fires burning in the capital and that it’s so bright you can’t see the stars even on a clear night.”

Triss bumped her shoulder into his and passed the bottle back. “Loredo intends to ask me to marry him. I think you ruined his plans to do it tonight. I don’t know what to do. It’s such a scandal for me to live by myself as a woman, but I don’t -” she sighed and dropped her head into her hands. “Do you ever feel like you’re missing something? Like you’re not where you’re supposed to be?”

Vernon pondered his answer with another sip of wine. His first instinct was to say he was right where he was supposed to be but he knew that would just get him laughed at no matter how nice Triss was. Instead, he told her the truth. “Yes. I feel like I’m just growing stagnant here. I love working with my father on the farm, I don’t even mind working at the shop, but I feel like I’m meant to be more. I feel like I’m not a shop boy, just a boy who happens to work at a shop for the time being. 

“Or at least for the next week,” he said sullenly. He was excited in a way to join the army. His father was a veteran and he was proud to follow in his footsteps, but he felt like going south to the capitol was the exact opposite of what he was supposed to do. But there was nothing north except The Wall.

“I’ve got a crazy idea,” he said after they sat in silence and finished the bottle of wine. “You don’t want to marry Loredo, totally understandable by the way, but you don’t want to lose the freedom you have. Why don’t you and I get married, or at least betrothed? No one will give you shit for being alone if you’re waiting for me to get home, and if I die while I’m on tour, that’ll buy you another year to ‘mourn’ my death.” 

Triss laughed. It wasn’t mean, more surprised than anything. “You’re crazy, Roche, you know that right?”

“No, no. I’m totally serious. I’ll - I’ll spend the next few days getting you a ring. It won’t be all that nice, but I’ll use my conscription bonus until I can get you something you deserve when I’m out.” He nodded at her with conviction, sure that his plan was the only way he’d ever have a chance to get the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen, and to make sure she didn’t have to marry human scum. 

“Fuck, I’ll ride to Toussaint and get one from a jeweler in Beauclaire.” He went to stand up only to be stopped by Triss’s hand on his shoulder. 

“You can’t go to Toussaint. You’re drunk. Besides, you’d never make it in time. You’re to leave next week, remember?” 

He slumped back with a pout. Just as he was about to give up on a way to prove he was serious, a ball of pure white light streaked across the sky. “Beautiful,” Triss whispered, her eyes following the star as it fell out of the sky. 

Vernon straightened up. “For your hand, I’ll cross the wall and get you that star. It couldn’t have fallen far from here. The old man is in his nineties now, I can get by him no problem.” 

Triss laughed again, this time he was certain she was laughing at him. “You can’t cross The Wall. Nobody crosses The Wall. You’re just being silly, Roche.” 

He shook his head and stood. “Look, I get it. You don’t want to marry me or probably any of the filthy ingrates around here, not when you could literally have anyone you want. But hear me out, just let me get you the star and we’ll say we’re waiting until after my tour is up to get married. We can even break it off when I get back if you want.” That hurt to suggest, but he was sure if he could get his hands on that star, she’d know he was serious about her and capable of keeping his promises and providing for her. 

It was quiet for a long moment until Triss stood and brushed the grass of her skirt. “Okay. You somehow get me that star, and I’ll go along with your crazy plan. If nothing else, it’ll get Loredo off my back and those old biddys in town will stop talking about me.”

Vernon smiled widely and bowed at her. “I’m going to have to leave tonight to get back in time, so let me walk you home.” 

Once he returned Triss safely to her door and bade her goodnight, he hurried home where his father was waiting up for him, drinking from a mug at their table. “How did it go?”

Vernon ruffled his hair and looked at his father with pleading eyes, hoping he wouldn’t get his ass handed to him for what he was about to suggest. “Father, I - I need to get to the other side of The Wall. I have a chance with her if I can bring her back the star that fell. It didn’t look like it was that far away, just past the mountains. But to get to it -”

“You’ll need to cross The Wall,” Garin finished for Vernon. At that moment, his father looked every one of his years. “Sit down, Vernon. There’s something I need to tell you.”

He obeyed and kept an eye on his father as he pulled the heavy iron box from under his bed and unlocked it for the first time in Vernon’s memory. 

He stayed silent through his father’s tale, of his mother and how they met, of how he had been left at The Wall. “I have a mother? I mean, I - I have a mother. She could still be alive.”    
  


“I’d like to think so,” Garin agreed and passed the Temerian Lily to Vernon who tucked it into the tie on his jerkin. “Take that with you, she said it was lucky. This is yours too, it's addressed to you so I never opened it."

The parchment was folded over something and tied together with a piece of twine. 

When he opened it, a cloudy purple crystal fell to the ground and broke into two. "Shit," he cursed and tucked the pieces and the letter into his bag. He would read them when he was alone and share them with his father when he got back.

Vernon nodded and tucked the length of enchanted chain into his pack, sure that it would do him little good, but wanting the memento all the same. “Why didn’t you tell me the truth?” he asked, hurt seeping into his tone even as he tried to hold it back. 

His father didn’t answer for several moments, a faraway look on his face. “Would you have believed me? And you’re so outspoken and strong-willed you would have fought everyone who contradicted you. I wanted to keep the memory of her to myself and away from these people. I just - it was easier to say she was a whore than to explain that I had broken the rules and crossed the wall and -” he stopped and didn’t continue. 

He understood anyway. He could see the longing and sadness on his father’s face and he didn’t want to make it worse. “I understand,” he said before he stood and shouldered his bag. “Any uh, hints to getting past the old man?”

Garin laughed at his son. “Boy, he’s 97, I don’t think he’s much of a threat anymore.”

“Well, he’s had plenty of time to practice then, hasn’t he? If I get my ass kicked, I’m blaming you,” he threatened before he allowed his father to wrap his arms around him and hug him. 

“Good luck, kid. Just make sure you’re home in time to travel to the capital.” 

"I will. And if I can, I'll try to find her," he promised as he stepped out of his house, a feeling of freedom and trepidation settling on his shoulders all at once. He looked up at the stars and whispered a plea to the twinkling lights. “Please let this work.” 

Had Vernon known the stars watched earth, he would have been humiliated to be caught wishing on a star like a child. But every star in the sky had its gaze turned to one of their own as he was struck by something, hard enough to fall out of the sky and fall to the earth in the murky swamps of Gors Velen. The impact of his landing sent him careening through the woods only to finally come to a complete stop in a massive crater where he was only able to keep conscious for a moment before the new sensation of complete and total  _ pain _ hit every nerve ending at once before he collapsed back to the wet ground.

\----

The scroll was delivered after supper while Foltest was wandering through the gardens of La Valette Castle. He had been a guest of the Baron and Baroness for several years at the behest of his father. After the hastily cleaned up scandal, he had been shipped off to one of the King’s favored Lords. 

“An urgent message for you, your highness. From the Royal Palace in Vizima,” the courier said, red in the face and out of breath. “I was also to deliver this.” The courier handed Foltest a small crystal and bowed at the waist before he hurried away. 

_ Foltest, _

_ My son, I know we have not seen eye to eye in several years. But nothing you have done will ever stop you from being my son.  _

_ I’m dying. Keira Metz has managed to stop it from spreading and infecting anyone else, but there’s only so much she can do without her magic. It’s Catriona. They’re not sure how I contracted it. Some suspect an assassination. I doubt it. I think it’s Destiny taking back what I took years ago - balancing the scales, I think.  _

_ I need you to come home. Please.  _

_ Your brothers will be summoned as well, I have finally decided how to determine succession. As my own flesh and blood, I cannot show you favor, but know I wish you all the fortune a father can hope for his children. _

It wasn’t signed, but it didn’t need to be. The wax seal had been signature enough before he had even opened the scroll. 

He didn’t notice he was shaking until a delicate hand touched his arm. Maria Louisa was standing next to him, concern on her face even after everything that had happened between them. “Foltest what is it?”

Foltest tucked the parchment into his doublet and ran a heavy hand through his tawny hair. “My father is dying. I’m being summoned home,” he replied and showed her the crystal. It was a relic of the Old Kingdoms, a leftover transportation spell frozen into a hazy purple crystal, activated only when broken. ‘Close your eyes and think of home,’ his mother had always told him when she would recall the world before the dissolution of the Old Kingdoms. 

He looked past Maria Louisa and saw  Anaïs and Boussy following the Baron into the castle. He wanted to go to them, to wrap his arms around his children and assure them that he loved them. But he couldn’t. They didn’t know - they  _ couldn’t _ know. 

_ Not until I’m crowned King of Temeria _ , he thought to himself, allowing the grim determination to force down the numbness the news of his father’s impending death had carved out of his heart.

“Don’t even think about it, Foltest,” Maria Louisa warned with a scowl. “You can’t afford another  _ scandal _ and I will not lose my children to the Baron’s rage nor to you if you wisk them away to the capitol. 

Foltest felt his jaw clench and his teeth grind as he bit back his own rage. Now was not the time to start anything when he didn’t have the power to command anyone to follow him. Instead, he took a deep breath and nodded towards her. “Apologize to your husband for me and my abrupt departure, but I have to be home.” 

Before he dropped the crystal to the floor so he could break it, he let himself think of his real home - the home that died with Adda, the home that was stolen from him that he’d never get back. It was easier for him to mourn for his sister, his sweet Adda than it was for his father who had stripped him of everything possible without completely disowning him. 

_ Close your eyes and think of home, _ he thought again and smashed the crystal under his boot. The rush of magic that swirled around him was enough to make him sick. For one hysterical moment, he feared it would never work, that the magic had failed after all these years and he would be doomed to swirl in the void until the next Conjunction of the Spheres. The crystals were so rare he was surprised even the Royal Palace had enough to send one to each surviving child of the Kingdom. 

When he forced his eyes open, he was standing in the marble courtyard which had been his last view of the Palace before he was all but exiled to La Valette castle.  _ Jokes on you father, I managed to fuck someone else I shouldn’t have, _ he thought to himself while he could still let himself think of something other than proving he deserved to wear his father’s crown. 

He frowned when he realized he was the last to arrive. When one of the palace servants saw him arrive and hurried to tell him where his father was resting, he had expected to have some time alone with his father. Instead, once he climbed to the top of the High Tower he found Stennis, Henselt, Eist, and Radovid were all standing around the King’s bed, obviously waiting on him. “Sorry father, I came as soon as I got your message.”

Instead of acknowledging his apology, Medell looked towards the door like he was expecting it to open again. “Where is Meve?” he asked, his voice rattling like death was sitting and waiting for him to finish his speech. Which, unbeknownst to any of the living people in the room, was very close to what was going on. 

Medell seemed to direct the question to the youngest of them, Radovid formerly of Redania, the most ruthless of the royal children. It had never been proven, but everyone knew that Radovid had hired a Viper Witcher to assassinate their brother Demavend before he had even turned twenty. “What?” Radovid asked, feigning insult. “Why would I do anything to my sister while these cretins are still in my way to getting the crown?” he waved at the rest of them. “Well, not you, Eist. You don’t count.”

The Skelligan smiled and winked at Radovid. “You’re just jealous because I get to spend my nights with the Lioness of Cintra riding my face. You fight over the crown, I’m content with mine.” 

Foltest admired the way Eist could rile up Radovid while remaining every inch the monarch he already was. If he was honest with himself, he was glad Eist had managed to marry Calanthe. It had solidified the union between Cintra and Temeria and he wouldn’t have to try and go up against a Skelligan. He was a skilled fighter, but he knew Eist could match him blow for blow and still come out on top. 

The King coughed and dragged Foltest out of his musings and back to the matter at hand. This is the moment he had been waiting for - his father was going to tell them how to become King. “When I was young, it was customary that the sole surviving male heir was to take his father’s place as King. But we have been trying to do things differently,” he said as if he were ignoring the obvious way Radovid was slowly sneaking up to Stennis who was standing much too close to the window. “Keira!”

Keira Metz hurried through the door and stood a respectful distance from the Royal Family. Foltest knew she was present to witness his father’s final wishes, but he couldn’t help but resent her for not doing more for the King. 

While they had all been distracted by Keira coming into the room, Radovid made his move. Where moments ago, Stennis had been standing at parade rest near the balcony, only Radovid stood with a mean smirk on his face. 

“Really, Radovid, after Father said we were going to do this differently?” Foltest asked, exasperated. 

He wasn’t the only one who was exasperated. Stennis was now across the room from where he had been moments before. He was exasperated and surprised - falling off the High Tower balcony and smashing open his head on the marble courtyard below hadn’t been anything he was expecting when he answered his adoptive father’s summons. More surprising, however, was that he was not alone - he was between Demavend and Estrad who both resembled wraiths. “Dema, Est, what’s going on?” he couldn’t help but ask. 

“We’re stuck like this until the new king is crowned,” Demavend told him, his dark eyes fixed on Radovid. 

Stennis was glad he was unable to vomit because the severed head glaring at his own killer from where his body was holding on to it (tucked securely between his arm and his side as if he had perfected the art of carrying around his head - which, seeing as how he had been dead for over a decade, was quite plausible) was enough to make him sick. 

With a large amount of trepidation, he reached up and touched the back of his head where he had landed. His neck was crooked, his head sitting at a light angle now due to his broken neck. What was worse though, was the way his skull was shattered and bits of bone and brain were coating his hair.

Faced with his own death and his dead brothers next to him, he felt a surge of guilt. “Estrad? I’m -” 

“Save it,  _ brother _ . Great deal of good it did you, didn’t it, hiring that Viper to kill me, huh Stennis? Because now you’re King of Temeria and all the Northern provinces under the Lilies. Oh, wait, nope. You’re dead.” 

Stennis knew he deserved that. They stopped speaking as King Medell began to speak of succession again. He now had a different desire for the crown - he didn’t give a flying fuck who got it (except Radovid, that kid could take a running leap), but he had a feeling he was going to be stuck between life and death for a while and he didn’t want to be. 

King Medell raised his shaking hands to his neck and lifted the jeweled necklace from where it had rested against his chest for decades. Before the eyes of his sons, both living and dead, the vibrant blue of the sapphire bled out of the Jewel of Temeria, leaving behind a clear gem that seemed to be floating in front of Medell. 

_ Magic _ ! They all gasped together. 

“Only he of Royal blood can restore the Lily. And the one who does shall be the new King of Temeria.” With a flash of blinding white light, the necklace shot out of the open window and into the night sky. 

And thus, the King’s final act was to set in motion a course of events that would change Temeria forever. Moreso, it would change the life of one lonely boy on the cusp of manhood from the other side of The Wall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I posted these three chapters together because I wanted you to have all the world-building bits as well as the beginning of the main story. 
> 
> I don't want to spoil yins but I also wanted you get to the main story before I left you hanging.


	4. On the Other Side of the Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now, I present to you: three scary sorceresses, the two remaining royals, and a scowling star with a fractured ankle.

Vernon stopped when he could see the gap in The Wall but he didn’t approach it yet. He took the letter out of his pack and squinted at the slanted handwriting with only the moon and stars to provide any kind of light to read the unfamiliar handwriting. 

_ My dearest Vernon, _

_ Please know that I only ever wanted what was best for you.  _

_ Had my mistress allowed it, I would have kept you in a heartbeat.  _

_ My dearest wish is that we will meet someday. _

_ The fastest way to travel is by crystal. Close your eyes and break it. Then think of me and only me. _

_ I will think of you every day. _

_ Love, _

_ Your mother _

Vernon felt some of his hope die. He had broken the crystal before he could use it.  _ Please let it be enough,  _ he begged the stars again. He knew he could probably find where the star landed based on the mountains when he got there. If he only had one chance to see his mother…

...he had to take it. 

He grabbed the largest piece of crystal and threw it to the ground, stomping on it for good measure. He closed his eyes and thought about everything he knew about his mother. 

...until the last moment when Triss’s sweet face came to mind and how she would be happy for him for finding his mother and bringing her back the star.

With a whoosh, he felt himself land gracelessly near the edge of a large crater. "Shit." He was angry at himself for fucking it all up, but it had worked - his train of thought may have shifted from the abstract idea of his mother to the genuine possibility of Triss, and from there he thought of the star. 

_ This has to be where it landed. _ He stood up on shaking legs, dizzy from traveling from one place to another in an instant. 

The crater was in the middle of what appeared to be a swamp mixed with a forest. It was smelly and sticky and he could see vague outlines in the fog, but they didn't come closer.

He looked around for signs of the star but saw mother other than someone asleep at the bottom of the crater. Vernon let himself slide down the side until he was next to the other person. 

He was beautiful but obviously injured. His face was marred by a painful-looking wound starting at his eye and going down his cheek until it touched the top of his full lips. He was dressed in a strange green tunic and trousers made of some shimmering material that looked like it was made of light. 

Around the wound, Vernon could see his sharp facial features and strangely pointed ears. He wasn't human, at least not with how humans looked on Vernon’s side of The Wall.

As if he could sense Vernon’s gaze, the strange man blinked and sat up slowly with a wince and a scowl. "Take it easy," Vernon found himself saying as he reached out to help if needed. 

"Who are you? Where am I?" His voice was both rough and pleasant at the same time. The tone was harsh but the way he spoke rounded out his words and lent for musical quality.

Vernon shushed the strange man and offered him his waterskin. "My name is Vernon Roche. I'm afraid I can't answer your other question. But, um, this may seem like a strange question, but you haven't seen a star around here have you?"

The man who had previously been drinking from Vernon’s water skin like he hadn’t had a drink in days, now looked at him with the most judgemental look he had ever been on the other end of. “You’re funny,” he said dryly and winced when he frowned like it hurt him. 

Vernon instantly felt bad and reached for his pack to see if he had anything to help stop the blood flowing down the stranger’s beautiful face. “Here,” he said, handing over a red scarf that was worn thin with age. It wasn’t bandages, but it was something clean and soft. The man gave him another incredulous look and Vernon pointed to his own cheek. 

It was like reminding the man of his wound had brought back the pain. “Fuck,” he growled out and pressed the scarf up to his face and made and groaned in pain. “I - I can’t see out of my right eye,” he whispered out, voice choked and distraught. 

Vernon scooted closer to help the man stop the blood flow. There was nothing he could do to help his vision, but he was going to do what he could. “If you help me find the star, I’ll help you patch up your face,” Vernon offered, slowly reaching out to help him. “We’re in a crater, this must’ve been where it fell.”

The man scowled. It was an impressive scowl considering half his face was currently obscured by the scarf being pressed to his face. “This  _ is  _ where it fell,” he answered, still scowling. “Or, if you want to be really specific, up there is where this weird, bloody necklace came out of nowhere and knocked it out of the heavens when it was minding its own fucking business. And over there is where it landed. And right here, is where it woke up to some moron staring at it like he’s waiting for it to do a magic trick.” 

Vernon gaped, doing a convincing impression of a fish out of water as he watched the man become more animated the longer his sardonic story went on. Finally, what he said caught up to Vernon. “Wha -  _ you’re  _ the star? Really?” 

The star glared at him again before shoving both the scarf and the water skin back to Vernon. He stood on unsteady legs before he sat down heavily and looked at his ankle in dismay. 

“I - wow - I didn’t know you’d be a -” Vernon gestured at the star, conflicted but determined. If he ruined his chance to meet his mother, he wouldn’t waste his chance to prove he was serious about his promise to Triss. “May I just say in advance that I’m sorry?” 

While the star looked up from where he was gently prodding at his ankle (which was a sickening mass of mottled purple and black) to look at Vernon with confusion, he was busy looking for the bit of enchanted chain. “Sorry for what?”

“For this,” he answered before he connected the chain around the star’s wrist and watched as the chain bonded to itself and lengthened to give Vernon enough to hold onto. He was pleased that the chain did as he hoped it would, as it had done in his father’s tale about his mother. “Now, if I’m not mistaken, this means you have to do as I say.” When the star did nothing but stare at the silvery chain around his wrist, making no move to stand again even as Vernon had done so. “You see,” he continued undeterred, hoping his explanation would be enough to convince the star to move, “you’re to be a betrothal gift for Triss, my true love.” He hadn’t meant to call Triss that, but the words sent a wild swooping feeling through his gut which he took to be a good sign. 

“Yeah,” he drawled, ignoring Vernon as he tugged gently on the chain. “Because nothing says ‘be mine’ like the gift of a kidnapped, injured man. I’m not going  _ anywhere  _ with you.” 

\----

Vernon and Triss hadn’t been the only ones to notice the star fall from the sky. Francesca Findabair was listless tending to the garden where she and her companions grew their rare plants and herbs. The brief flash of light lit up the sky for only a moment, but it was enough. It startled Francesca out of her haze and made her jump to her feet too quickly for her body to keep up with, but she wouldn’t let a little thing like extreme aging keep her down. Especially if restored youth was within their grasp. 

When the wall had been built it had stopped the natural flow of chaos, causing a buildup just as she and several other sorceresses had predicted - only to be ignored by the King and his group of so-called advisors - magic had become more dangerous than before. With no way to use the world around them to balance the give-and-take of chaos, using magic stole life from the user; it wasn’t enough to stop Francesca, Philippa, Síle, and a small handful of others from using magic. To give up magic forever was a death sentence for them. It hadn’t been a popular thought and had inevitably caused the ruin of the Lodge. 

Francesca had been the one to finally discover the solution to the problem after years of researching the issue and the iron resolve necessary to cut the heart out of a star that had fallen to earth. That had been the final nail in the metaphorical coffin - it had sent them into exile at the border of Temeria where they couldn’t infect others with their ideas (not her words, but still memorable even several decades later). 

She threw open the door and called out to the dank darkness. “Philippa! Síle! Wake up!” she gasped, leaning against the doorframe to rest and catch her breath before she could hobble into the old castle they had claimed as their home. 

The women she had grown to call her sisters were sitting at their table in front of the fire, curled up and weak. “What is it?” Philippa croaked, her head turned towards Francesca even though it was impossible for her to see as the brat prince Radovid had gouged out her eyes in a last act of defiance before he was brought to Vizima to live with King Medell as his adopted son. 

“A star has fallen,” she answered with no small amount of glee. Instead of joining her sisters at the table, she walked past the statues that always seemed to be watching them and began to tear through their old trunks they had been too close to death to use for far too long. “Where are the transportation crystals?” she asked as she pulled out old potions and trinkets, tucking the xenovox she found into the pocket of her skirt. 

“You used the last one, Francesca, decades ago when the last star fell. Don’t you remember?” Philippa asked, her tone sarcastic and biting. 

“Perhaps we could obtain another,” Síle suggested from opposite Philippa, her sunken eyes shining with the possibility of youth again. 

“‘Perhaps we could obtain another’,” Francesca mocked, still digging despite her sister’s words. “You speak as if these are freely available.” 

They argued amongst themselves for several moments before Francesca managed to direct them back to the matter at hand. “We cannot sit here arguing while some other sorceress finds our star. We’ll use the last bit of the last heart and search on foot.” 

The trio of sorceresses all stood over a weasel as Philippa Divined the location of the star from the guts. Francesca was impressed at how well Philippa could See with only her metaphysical Sight to guide her hand. “The star is about one hundred miles away, in the swamp forest of Gors Velen,” she stated confidently though her voice was tinged with concern. 

Francesca had none of the same concerns as her sister. “We’ve waited and wasted away for decades. What harm is a few more days?” She glanced at the remains of the heart and noted that there was barely enough for one of them. “Who should retrieve it then?”

Together, she and Síle closed their eyes and the three of them plunged their hands into the open cavity of the weasel's body. (Francesca, cracked open an eye, determined to be the one to regain her youth first, to get out the cold and ruined Montecalvo castle and find the star). 

“I’ve his kidney,” Síle said with a pout. 

With a little more triumph, Philippa said, “I’ve his liver.” 

The smile of a winner pulled at the deep wrinkles on Francesca’s face. “And I’ve his heart.” She had known she would win, having cheated, but the looks on her sister’s faces were incomparable to the thrill of winning. 

The small but still brightly glowing bit of the heart fit in her palm. “It’s not much, is it?” she asked with a small frown but shook off the slight worry and quickly swallowed the heart. The effect was immediate. In an instant it no longer hurt to stand up straight, her skin was suddenly tight and golden again. She could see perfectly without cataracts that muddied the icy blue of her eyes. 

She couldn’t help herself, she let the ragged dress she had been wearing drop to the floor. She hadn’t been able to look at herself in years without feeling sick, she was going to appreciate herself as she was meant to be. 

“Put this on,” Síle said with poorly disguised envy. She shoved an old dress into Francesca’s arms. 

It was an old dress but still in good shape (if not decades out of style - but beggars couldn’t be choosers at this point). It clung to her curves and accentuated her narrow waist and complimented her golden skin and blonde hair. 

Before she set off, she took the xenovox and a set of dragon knucklebones to help in her search and waved her hand towards the dining area. “How we’ve lived like this for so long I’ll never know. When I get back, I expect this to be a place fit for the powerful women we are.” She didn’t use much magic, refused to use much if she could get her sisters to do something about it while she was gone. Once outside, she took a deep breath and enjoyed the crisp breeze coming off the mountains, a spring in her step as she began the long trek to the nearest town to hire a carriage. She was not about to do something as mundane as to walk from the edge of Old Redania all the way through the forest and into the filthy swamp.  _ If only the star had the foresight to fall somewhere less disgusting, _ she thought with a disgusted frown as she pictured what waited for her in Gors Velen. 

\---

Foltest had waited until morning like the rest of his brothers before he planned to set out in search of the Lily. He had been alone at the breakfast table until the high priestess of Melitele joined him, obviously finished with the preparations of his father’s body. “Your highness, you should hurry. You should be the one to restore the sapphire to the Lily,” she said as she wiped her hands on her robes. 

He found her conviction inspiring. Ever since he had been forced to send his daughter to the temple of Melitele after her traumatic experience as a Striga, he held Nenneke in high regard. She hadn’t judged him for his ignorance of the existence of his daughter and had, in fact, praised him for naming her after her mother who had died in childbirth and doing what was best for little Adda by letting her live with the priestesses in peace and seclusion.

“I would like to see you take your father’s throne. The first benevolent King. I should think Temeria would be a better place under your rule,” she confessed quietly to him. 

Despite her low tones, her declaration didn’t remain between the two of them. At that moment his two remaining brothers vying for the crown stepped out of the shadows. “Well, isn’t this fascinating?” Radovid’s oily voice drawled. “Don’t you agree, Henselt?” 

The last remaining member of the Dynasty of the Unicorn nodded solemnly. “Yes indeed.” 

His brothers didn’t give him or Nenneke time to stutter through a response. Radovid held up his wine glass and gestured to his brothers and the high priestess. “I propose a toast. To the spirit of our father, the King, and our endeavour to fulfill his final wishes.” Radovid set his glass down and poured two more glasses of wine, sitting suspiciously close to Foltest’s own wine glass. 

He narrowed his eyes only slightly and thought he saw Radovid slip something into the glasses and push one he had just poured in front of Foltest rather than the one he had been sipping from with his breakfast. 

“To the next King of Temeria, whichever of you fine gentlemen it shall be,” Nenneke said, raising the glass closest to her with a poorly-concealed grimace. “Slàinte,” they all said together. 

Foltest, Henselt, and Radovid were all watching each other intently like they were all waiting for the other shoe to drop. As one, Henselt, Radovid, and Nenneke gasped, their faces turning red before they fell over, dead before their bodies hit the floor. 

Now a spirit, Henselt stood with his other deceased brothers and their adoptive father and watched Foltest look at the floor around the breakfast table with a hint of surprise before he raised a fist in triumph.

“Oh, brother,” Henself said with a small amount of pity as he watched the trick unfold. 

Radovid began laughing before he got back to his feet, trying to speak through his laughter. “You really thought you were King?” he wheezed out, clutching his middle. 

“You killed the High Priestess!” Foltest accused, realizing that while his youngest brother had fooled him, Nenneke really was dead. 

“No, Foltest,” Radovid countered once he had recovered from his laughing fit. “I think you’ll find  _ you _ killed the High Priestess by drinking from the wrong glass.” He rolled his eyes at the obvious conflict on Foltest’s face. “Oh, when you’re done wrestling with your conscience, may I suggest you return to La Valette Castle and leave the search for the sapphire to me.” 

“Over my dead body,  _ brother _ ,” Foltest growled, marching across the dining room towards his chambers to finish packing for his journey. 

“That’s the plan, brother,” Radovid called to his back with another laugh, this one cruel and spine-tingling. 


	5. A Meeting at an Inn in the Middle of Nowhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Iorveth and Vernon annoy each other and a trap is laid for a star with a broken heart.

For the fourth time in as many hours, Vernon was jolted from his sleep by the enchanted chain being tugged roughly by the star who huffed and shuffled around. “Don’t you ever sleep?” he groused, finding himself at the end of his short fuse. 

“Not at night, no,” the star replied, matching Vernon’s tone. “It may have escaped your notice, genius, but that’s when stars have better things to do. Like coming out and shining - that sort of thing.” 

Vernon rolled over and sat up, getting up in the star’s face. “Well, it may have escaped _your_ notice, but you’re not in the sky anymore. Here on the ground, we sleep at night, so coming out is off the agenda. Shining has been suspended until further notice,” he snapped before he turned away from the star and attempted to get comfortable on the hard ground. “Oh, and sleeping during the day is O - U - T. Unless you have some magical ability to sleep while walking,” he added as he went to close his eyes. 

“Have you not got it through your thick head, _dh’oine_? I’m not walking anywhere!” the star shouted at his back. 

He didn’t know what ‘dh’oine’ meant, but it sounded like an insult. He couldn’t help but needle the star again. “Fine. Sit in a crater. I was going to put you back in the sky after I brought you to Triss. She wouldn’t need for you and gods know you wouldn’t last a day in the army with me.” It wasn’t true - he hadn’t thought of what to do with the star after he showed him off to Triss, but what the star did after wasn’t his problem.

The star harrumphed and tugged at the chain again. “And how did you plan on doing that?” Vernon could hear the sneer on his face. 

He rolled onto his side and tried to find the star’s face in the darkness. He noticed that the star had taken back his red scarf some time while he had slept and had wrapped it around his head, hiding his inky black hair and the painful-looking wound on his right cheek. The effect was intimidating where he figured it would look ridiculous on anyone else. “I find the fastest way to travel is by crystal.” 

_That_ got a positive reaction from the star. “You’ve got a teleportation crystal?!” 

Vernon nodded and sat up to dig it out of his pack where he had stashed it for safekeeping. “I was going to use it to put you back in the sky when we were done -”

The star interrupted him. “That’s barely enough to bother using.” 

“Then be glad I’m not using it now to get us back to Wall,” Vernon said, the volume of his voice startling an owl out of a nearby tree. 

He huffed in irritation, more awake than he wanted to be. But if they were both awake, there was no point in not starting their journey now. “Unless you’ve got a better way of getting yourself home,” he taunted while he shouldered his pack and stood up, looking at the star who was still seated on the cold ground. 

“Fine,” the star said finally and started to stand. He managed to get to his feet before his broken ankle took the time to remind the star that it was broken. “Help me,” he demanded through clenched teeth. 

Vernon caught the star before he fell and tucked himself under his arm, supporting his weight over his shoulders, and started slowly climbing out of the crater.

“That’s a nice necklace,” he said dumbly, unsure what to do with himself or the strained silence between them as they made their way through the damp forest. 

“Is it? I didn’t notice it when it knocked me out of the fucking sky and blinded me while it destroyed my face.”

Vernon felt a surge of guilt for bringing up an obviously painful topic. “Sorry,” he muttered before he closed his mouth with a click. He’d rather deal with the oppressive silence than an angry star. 

They walked all night before Vernon got the bright idea to fashion a splint for the star so he didn’t have to lean on Vernon’s shoulder which had long-ago gone numb. 

“So let me get this straight: you say we’re going the right direction because, and I quote, ‘I just do’?” the star drawled out from several paces behind Vernon, going at a slower pace in an obvious move to be more irritating than he had been before. 

“I _do_ , though. Maybe it’s my desire to prove I’m serious to Triss guiding me home,” he answered lamely before he stopped and turned towards the star. 

“Oh please, spare me,” the star begged. 

“Look, Yourweth -”

“ _Iorveth_. I’ve told you before: my name is Iorveth,” he pronounced it slowly like he was mocking Vernon’s intelligence. 

“Iorveth,” he repeated and flapped his hands about, not really seeing the point of correct pronunciation when they wouldn’t need to deal with each other for long. “Look, The Wall is south, we’re going south, alright?” He pointed up at the sky. “We just have to keep the north star at our backs, and we’ll know we’re going in the right direction. You can see it even during the day.” He frowned and squinted at the sky and the empty space where the star had been every day of his life. 

Iorveth snorted and gestured to himself. “You’re doing a wonderful job at keeping it at your back.” 

Stunned, Vernon looked between the sky and Iorveth. “W-wait, you mean that’s _you_?” 

Iorveth gave him an unimpressed look and folded his arms across his chest before he sat down to lean back against a tree. 

“Don’t do this again,” Vernon half demanded half-pleaded before he tugged on the chain again. He could feel his anxiety grow as the shadows began to disappear with the lengthening hours. 

“Please,” Iorveth begged, “It’s mid-day, I never stay up this late.” 

If he didn’t know better, he could swear he could hear tears choke Iorveth’s voice but his face was dry even as his lower lip trembled minutely. He did look exhausted. He wasn’t completely without sympathy for the star - he knew it couldn’t be easy to be violently thrown from his home and be stranded somewhere while injured and hurting. “Look, you can see smoke from a chimney through the trees. We’re almost to the next town. Why don’t you rest and I’ll try to see if I can trade something for a horse or at least something to eat.” 

Iorveth nodded and only complained for a moment when Vernon wrapped the enchanted chain around the trunk of the tree he was leaning on to keep him in place even after Vernon couldn’t help but mumble “just in case you decide to run off.” 

\----

After the disastrous meeting with Fringilla Vigo, Francesca was about ready to start tearing her hair out.

She was angry at herself for not noticing the herb used to extract the truth from someone who ate it until it was too late. But she did find herself satisfied that she was able to stop Vigo with a well-placed curse. 

_"You shall not see the star, touch it, smell or hear it. You shall not perceive the star even if he stands in front of you."_

Hearing her beg before cursing her had been another sort of satisfaction, as had the glazed look on her face when she wiped their encounter from her mind.

Now, miles away from where she had met Fringilla, Francesca frowned down at her arm that was littered with liver spots again (though easily hidden by the sleeve of her dress). She figured it was worth it if her runestones were right. She had acquired a small riding cart from a farmer along with the farmer's son whom she had turned into a goat to match the one she had already attached to the cart.

Now she was standing on the top of an empty hill just outside of the Velen Swamps. There was nothing here but herself and the two goats but the runestones told her this was the spot. 

She didn’t want to contact her sisters. It hadn’t been long - she didn’t want to come across as needing their help already - but she was at her wit's end and was ready to kick the goat who was calmly eating the hem of her dress. 

“Well, consult them again,” she barked into the xenovox at Philippa who had told her that the fox entrails had agreed with her runestones. 

“They’re certain, Francesca. The star will be there. Let him come to you,” Philippa suggested. 

“And how do you expect me to catch him? Set up a box on a stick with some bait and hope for the best?” she snapped, her patience running thin as she could see nothing to help her catch a rabbit, let alone a star. 

“I’m sure you’ll figure something out,” Philippa replied, matching her sister's short, clipped tone. 

Francesca could feel her anger rising when she realized her sisters had severed their connection, leaving her on her own in the middle of nowhere. 

She paced back and forth for a few minutes, thinking through her situation. If she was remembering correctly, the last star to fall had been scared and exhausted when she fell. 

Francesca and her sisters had spent hours helping the last star to relax before they pounced, cutting her heart out of her chest while she was happy and glowing. But there was nothing out here that would help her do the same thing again. She signed and silently mourned her youth before she released the lock she kept on her magic. Her riding cart turned into an Inn and the goats were standing on two legs, human for the time being. 

“You will be my husband, Billy the innkeeper,” she said to the man who had never been human. To the one she had previously transfigured into a goat, she said “you’ll be our daughter.” She waved her hand at the confused farmer's son who yelped in surprise as he changed again, this time to a woman. 

Now all she could do was wait.

\----

Radovid stood on the banks of the Pontar and seethed. 

His anger grew and multiplied until two of the Knights of the Order of the Flaming Rose came up to him, frog-marching Dethmold between them. "What is the meaning of this?" He sputtered as he tripped over his robes when they released him. "Your Majesty, these men abducted me!"

Radovid stamped his anger down and turned towards Dethmold once he could show a calm facade. 

“North you said and north we went. Now do you propose we swim across the Pontar where I’ll likely be murdered as soon as I step on dry land?” he asked, as calmly as he could. It wouldn’t do well to act rashly before he had the information he needed. 

“Sire, I’ve merely related to you what the runes have told me,” Dethmold said, his oily voice trembling slightly. 

Radovid hummed and waved towards Dethmold. “Consult them again,” he demanded. Before Dethmold could toss the runestones into the air, he stopped the mage. “Wait. Before we continue to seek the stone I have another question: Am I my adoptive father’s seventh son?”

Dethmold threw the stones in the air and let them land in his open palm. The side with the runes were all facing upwards. 

“What does that mean?” he asked, knowing the answer but needing to know for sure. 

“Yes.” 

“Another question is my favorite color red?” 

Again the runestones landed face up. “Yes,” Dethmold said again, obviously confused by the seemingly random questions. 

“Has excessive begging or pleading ever convinced me to spare the life of a traitor?” This time when Dethmold threw the stones, they landed so that the blank side of the stones was showing. “Ohh, what does that mean?” 

Dethmold seemed to be catching on to the danger he was in. He gulped heavily before answering “it means no,” in a meek and shaking voice.

Radovid nodded and dropped his hand to the hilt of his sword hidden under his traveling cloak. “Once more, and this time throw them high.” When the stones were in the air, Radovid asked “Do you work for my brother?” 

When the marked side of the runes landed on the ground when Dethmold failed to catch them, Radovid had his answer. Quick as a flash, he buried his sword in the mage’s chest. “Clean this,” he said to one of the knights and he handed over his sword so he could pick up the runes on the bank. “And dispose of that while you’re at it.” 

He didn’t waste time before he threw the stones again. Foltest had a full day’s head start in the right direction thanks to his toady sending Radovid on a wild goose chase. 

\----

Iorveth had managed to fall asleep despite the pain in his face and ankle and being sat upright against a tree in the pouring rain. It hadn’t been restful, but it was more than he had expected after falling from the sky and being dragged across the country by a human with no idea how to care about anyone other than himself. 

Something rustled in the trees, waking Iorveth further. “Vernon?” he called into the swamp, feeling anxiety well up in his gut. He had seen real monsters roaming the country from his place in the sky and he didn’t want to see them up close. “Vernon?” he called again, quieter this time. “Come on, this isn’t funny.” 

The rustling grew louder but instead of Vernon or a monster, a unicorn stepped in front of him. He couldn’t help but gasp and watch as the unicorn lowered its head and touched the tip of its horn to the enchanted chain keeping him tied to the tree. With an echoing _snap_ , the chain fell and dissolved. 

Iorveth felt a surge of gratitude well up in his chest so quickly it brought a tear to his eye. The unicorn knelt and knickered softly at him, pointing its nose toward its back. “Thank you,” he whispered, overcome by the simple kindness shown to him. 

He let the unicorn lead him wherever it decided to go without any input from him. He leaned against the unicorn’s neck and dozed for a while before the rumbling in his stomach became too much to bear. “Any chance of finding me anything to eat?”

The unicorn stomped and then turned to face another direction where he could see smoke rising over the treetops. “You know, he’s not all that bad,” Iorveth said to the unicorn, feeling only slightly ridiculous talking to an animal that couldn’t respond. “I mean, I’m convinced he can’t be the only one in Temeria who can help me, and there’s part of me that’s sure he’s lying about giving me the crystal, but all I can do is hope, right?” 

The unicorn snorted at him like it was laughing at him. “Okay yes, he irritates me - all he can talk about is this Triss woman. He talks about her but never _about_ her, you know?” 

The trees and marshes of the swamp thinned out until there was nothing but rolling hillsides. Stranger yet, there was what looked to be an Inn on the top of the nearest hill. 

At the door, Iorveth carefully slid off the unicorn’s back and knocked at the door. He was soaked, shivering, and miserable and he just wanted to collapse into a heap and cry. 

The door opened and a woman appeared, backlit by a welcoming fire. “My goodness! Come inside and get out of this wretched rain,” she said, ushering him through the door and into the warmth of the dining area. He could see a set of stairs and briefly wondered what was up there before he found himself distracted by the woman again. 

“Come sit. What would you like first, sweetie? Something to eat or a nice hot bath?” He stayed silent, watching her flit around, and started to command her husband and daughter like a general. “Billy, start filling the tub. Lily, take his horse to the stable. I’ll get you something to eat while we wait on the bath. How do you like your bath? Hot or boil-a-lobster?”

He blinked stupidly before he was able to register that she had asked him several questions. “Uh, I’m not sure. I’ve never had a bath before.” 

If she found his answer strange, she didn’t show it. Instead, she smiled at him and patted his shoulder. “Let me decide for you then. Here, eat this. It’ll warm you right up.” She handed him several buns still warm from the oven. 

The Innkeeper's wife left him alone to eat but when he was done, she came back up to him and held a hand out. “Let's get you out of your wet clothes and into the bath. I promise it’ll soothe all your aches away.” 

Iorveth stripped out of his wet clothes and stepped into the tub, and nearly lost his balance when his ankle gave out on him. 

She tutted at him and took his ankle in her hands. “It doesn’t look broken, just a bad sprain. Just let it soak and relax here for a while.” While he was otherwise distracted by the novel sensation of soaking in hot water, the woman dipped her finger into the water and used a small amount of magic to heal the sprain. What the star didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, and she figured if it was a means to an end, then it was worth it. 

Iorveth closed his eyes and relaxed back into the hot water. He wasn’t sure if it was the bath itself or having someone care about his well-being, but he felt himself relax. A curl of happiness spiraled up his chest and he started humming to himself. Before long the water started to cool and he wanted nothing more than to lay down and sleep despite the late hour. 

As soon as the thought entered his mind, the Innkeeper’s wife appeared with a fluffy robe. “How does your ankle feel now, sweetie?” 

Iorveth stepped out of the wooden tub and gingerly put weight on both feet. Where there had been agonizing pain before, now there wasn’t even a twinge. “It’s so much better!” 

She helped Iorveth slip into the robe and grabbed onto his elbow and led him to the stairs. “I readied a room for you while you were in the bath. Now, I couldn’t help but notice the cut on your face. I have something to help to stop scarring later.” 

He laid down on the bed at her behest and removed the makeshift bandana he had used to keep it clean in the swamp. “Close your eyes and let me see to your face,” she urged. He could hear her shuffle around and dab his face with a thick paste. “You’ll want to leave it on all night so try to sleep on your back, sweetie.” 

Iorveth nodded sleepily. “You’ve been so kind. I don’t know how to repay you.”

“You seem happier than when you knocked at the door. I do have an idea of how you could repay me.” 

Iorveth hummed, waiting for her to continue before a knock echoed from the ground floor. He could vaguely hear her set something down and mutter under her breath. “I’ll be right back, my dear. Rest for now while I’ll see to whoever is at the door.” 

\----

Vernon couldn’t help but stomp his foot in anger when he got back to where he had left Iorveth to rest only to find the star was gone and a set of hoof prints in the soft ground. “Fucking perfect,” he groaned and went to follow the hoof prints, grateful when they led to another trail and he no longer had to unstick his boots after every step. 

He hadn’t gone more than a mile down the road when he could hear his name whispered on the wind. “Vernon, please you must protect our brother.” As the voice started, an image of another star appeared in front of him. He could tell they weren’t really there, merely a projection, but he stopped and listened to the star, their skin aglow in a way he couldn't help but notice Iorveth’s didn’t do.

“Iorveth is in terrible danger,” the star said, urgency obvious in their tone. “The unicorn helped him, but they’re walking into a trap - no star is safe in Temeria. Decades ago a sister fell and she was captured by sorceresses, the same ones who hunt Iorveth now.” He could see it, the images blurry like he was looking at a memory. He realized he was, and suddenly he _was_ the star in front of him ( _Rainin,_ the star told him). He could see a beautiful woman being led by what looked like three crones to a black stone table. “They tricked her, cared for her - and when her heart was once more aglow, they cut it from her chest, and ate it.” 

Vernon fought the urge to be sick as he watched the sorceresses cut the star’s heart from her chest. The feeling doubled when he realized the star before him had seen the entire thing and was powerless to stop their sister’s brutal murder.

“Please, you have to help him,” Rainin begged. “There’s a carriage coming this way. Get on it by whatever means necessary. Run!” they urged before their image faded and Vernon was alone again. He took off back the way he came, the way the other star was pointing. 

Soon he heard the creaking wheels and pounding hooves signaling a carriage coming towards him. Without stopping to think about what would happen if the carriage couldn’t stop in time, he stepped into the middle of the road and waved for it to stop. 

A man with a gold circlet glared down at him from the driver’s bench. “So Radovid sends a boy to do a man’s job,” the imposing man said as he stood up and drew his sword from his belt. 

“Wait! Wait! I don’t even know a Radovid! I just need a lift. Look, I’m unarmed!” he called, raising his arms up in a pacifying manner. “Please,” he repeated. “Let me ride with you.” 

The man frowned and sat back down. “I’m sorry, but I’m on a quest of great importance that cannot be delayed.” 

Desperate, Vernon took a step forward, only to face the end of the man’s sword. “It’s all the more reason for me to travel with you. I can be useful. Please. Maybe destiny sent me to you just as it sent you to me.” 

He could see the moment the man gave in to his pleas. “Get on.” 

Vernon scrambled onto the bench and gripped the edge with white knuckles as the large warhorses took off again. “Vernon Roche. It’s nice to meet you.” 

The man glanced over at him for a moment before he faced forward again, determination etched onto his handsome face. “Prince Foltest, the future king of Temeria. Now, hold on Vernon Roche, we’ve got to cover as much ground before it gets too dark to see. 

Vernon wondered how the prince could see anything through the rain and the darkness but he held on tighter and kept his mouth shut against the barrage of questions he was itching to ask. 

They made it through the swamp and out into the hills before Vernon noticed an Inn sitting ominously on the top of the hill. Foltest pulled his carriage to a halt in front of the Inn and sighed. “We’re going to have to stop for the night. My runes say the stone I’m looking for is very near. So, take my horses to the stables while I get us rooms.

Vernon worked on untacking the massive horses, all the while expecting them to reach over and bite him though they never did. After he had stabled the second horse, he noticed a beautiful white horse in the stall furthest from the door. He bumped into a young woman who silently handed him a wine glass. “Thank you.” 

In a voice much too deep for a young woman, she replied with a brief “you’re welcome” before she hurried out of the door. No sooner has she slipped through the door than the horse in the last stall started going berserk. It jumped the half-door and raced at him. He noticed the horn just as the unicorn reared up and kicked the wine glass out of his hand. It spilled on the ground and started to sizzle. 

_Unicorn! Poison!_ Vernon gasped, Rainin’s words coming back to him. “Iorveth,” he whispered into the musty air. “If we get out of this, I’ll never ignore an ominous feeling again.” 

He ran out of the stables, through the pouring rain, and burst through the doors as a woman who must have been one of the sorceresses hunting Iorveth drew a wicked-looking obsidian dagger across Foltest’s throat. 

Blue blood split down his chest and into the bathwater he had climbed into while Vernon was outside. 

The woman turned to start stalking across the floor, the knife gleaming wickedly in the firelight. Vernon saw her target and felt the bottom of his stomach fall out. “Iorveth!” he called out and ran towards the star who was slowly backing up to the stairs, eye fixed on the knife. 

“The burning golden heart of a star at peace is so much better than your frightened little heart. But it’s better than no heart at all.” 

Vernon looked around the room for anything he could use to fend off the sorceress. There was Foltest’s sword by his discarded doublet, but it was too far away and he was mostly worthless at fencing, they’d both be dead in moments. The sorceress was getting closer to Iorveth, still taunting him. 

_There!_ His bag was leaning against the doorframe. He grabbed it and started running toward the terrified star. Vernon’s hand closed around the transportation crystal and put himself between Iorveth and the sorceress. “Iorveth, quick! Hold onto me and think of home!” he smashed the crystal on the ground, and thought of Wall, desperate for the small crystal to have enough magic to get them to Wall. 

They landed in the middle of what could be nothing less than a nightmare.


	6. The Witcher's Caravan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exactly as it says on the tin. 
> 
> Have some bonding and some Witchers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's my birthday, have another update...because that's how birthdays work

“What the hell did you do?” Vernon hissed lowly and quickly pulled Iorveth away from the massive, winged lizards who were shrieking and attacking something he couldn’t see through the dark. 

“What did  _ I  _ do? What did  _ you  _ do?” the star shrieked at him, unconcerned by the chaos erupting around them, intent on turning his attention solely on Vernon. “‘Think of home!’ what a great plan! You thought of your home and I thought of mine so now we’re half-way between the two.”

“You stupid prick,” Vernon yelled, ignoring the sheer cliff face at their backs and the ledge that was too close for comfort. “Why would you think of your home?” he asked, his voice rising in volume to match the angry star, unconcerned about attracting the attention of two monsters who hadn’t noticed them. 

“You just said ‘home’! If you wanted me to think of your home, you should’ve said so!” Iorveth leaned down so they were suddenly eye to eye. 

Now that there wasn’t more than a breath between them, Vernon couldn’t help but notice the thundering pulse in Iorveth’s neck and the terror-dilated pupils. “A crazy sorceress was going to cut your heart out and you wanted more specific instructions?” 

Their argument was interrupted by someone grabbing them from the shadows. “I don’t know how you morons got up here, but you need to shut the fuck up before you get everyone killed,” the stranger whispered urgently. He gestured for Vernon and Iorveth to follow him. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Iorveth hissed at Vernon who had moved to follow the stranger. 

“He seems to know how to get down and unless you want to get eaten by a giant, flying lizard, we don’t have much of a choice, do we?” 

Iorveth sighed but said nothing else and followed Vernon. They stepped carefully behind the stranger until they found themselves on flat ground at the base of the cliff. “Thanks, uh -” 

“Jaskier, master bard at your service,” the man said with a bow and a wink. “You two have awful luck to end up in the middle of a fight with two Slyzards. And now, I’m out a good story.” He pouted at the two of them but still gestured for them to follow him. “You can stay with us if you want. We travel the country - they fight the monsters, I write the songs.” 

Vernon had absolutely no idea what was going on and when he looked over at Iorveth, the star didn’t seem to know either. It didn’t seem to deter the bard who continued talking even though they weren’t contributing to the conversation. 

“Geralt and Eskel should be down soon. I’m pretty sure I heard the death shrieks on our way down. “We’ve got plenty of food, though you’ll have to excuse me soon. I’ll have to bully Geralt into letting me get slyzard guts out of his hair.” 

They were led into a circle of caravans surrounding a huge pit fire where several well-armed men were sitting and eating what looked to be an entire boar. “Do you think we’re gonna die?” Iorveth asked, his hand searching out Vernon’s in the dark. 

Vernon was shocked at the contact but figured after the traumatic evening the star had, he could use some comfort. They sat a ways away from the truly gigantic men who were loudly speaking over each other. Without the bard who was built more like a normal man, they both found themselves feeling small and insignificant. “You know, I used to watch people having adventures. I envied them,” Iorveth confessed into the small space between them. 

Vernon felt for the star, he did. “Have you ever heard the saying ‘be careful what you wish for’?” 

Iorveth looked up and moved to scoot away from Vernon. “What?” he hissed, sounding hurt “So what? Ending up with my heart cut out, that’ll serve me right?”

Vernon shook his head and put a steadying hand on Iorveth’s arm. “That’s not what I meant at all. I’m terrible at this.” He sighed but continued, hoping he could make Iorveth feel better despite their situation. “I admire you for dreaming. A shop boy like me couldn’t ever imagine an adventure this big in order to have wished for it. At most I thought I’d find a lump of celestial rock and then go home where I’m destined for a tour of duty in the Nilfgaardian army and then back home where I can only hope Triss won’t decide to break off our engagement.” 

Iorveth choked on a laugh. “You expected a rock and you got me instead.” Iorveth leaned against Roche’s side, relaxed again. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned from watching mankind, it’s that people aren’t what they seem.” 

Vernon suddenly got the feeling they were both trying to comfort each other. It warmed something in his heart. The feeling only continued to grow as Iorveth started speaking again.

“There are shop boys and there are boys who just happen to work in shops for the time being. You, Vernon, are no shop boy. You’ll flourish as soon as you get out of your small town. Look at what you’ve accomplished in just a few days. You saved my life, Vernon. Thank you.” 

They sat in silence for a while, accepting plates from a bald man with a full beard and a warm smile. “Tell me about Triss,” Iorveth said around bites of boar. “If I’m to be her betrothal gift, I’d better know about her.” 

Vernon floundered for what to say. He had already told Iorveth about her unparalleled beauty, her kindness, and her smarts; he wasn’t sure what else the star wanted to know. “There’s nothing more to tell. You’ll understand when you meet her.” 

Iorveth frowned. "You love her, but from what little I’ve managed to learn about love is that it’s unconditional. You’re proving your love for her, but what is she doing in return? And why would either of you have to prove your feelings to each other?” 

Vernon felt his face flush. “I don’t really have much of a choice. I’m a bastard and the people in Wall all think I’m the son of a whore with who my poor father got dumped. And Triss, she’s fiercely independent. She doesn’t want to be tied down to anyone, especially Bernard Loredo who finds some kind of sick joy in harassing her and using every other free moment he has to remind me how worthless I am.” 

Over the raucous laughter closer to the fire, Vernon could hear a rumbling growl reverberate from Iorveth’s chest. “Let me tell you something, Vernon Roche. You are a lot of things: infuriating, and brave to name just two. What you are not is worthless. And when we make it to Wall, you’ll have to give me a moment to break this Loredo’s nose for putting that notion in your head.”

Vernon chuckled. “Provided we don’t get murdered by bandits first.” 

“Witchers, actually,” Iorveth corrected. “I should have known right away. But yes, murdered by Witchers. Heart torn out and eaten. Meet Triss. I can’t quite decide which sounds more fun.” 

Their quiet conversation was interrupted by the return of Jaskier and two freshly bathed men that Vernon could only assume were the Witchers from the cliffs. “Now that we’re all here, my dear Witchers, I think it’s time we meet our guests. I hope you haven’t been purposely intimidating them - Lambert I’m looking at you.” 

A red-haired man smiled innocently and went back to where he was mixing something foul-smelling that Vernon had been valiantly trying to ignore. “Didn’t do anything to them.” 

“I fed them,” the bald one with the beard said proudly, knocking over the ginger with his elbow. 

“Course you did, Coën. You’re the most well-mannered,” Jaskier praised before he sat down close to the fire and leaned back on his hands to regard Vernon and Iorveth. “And I apologize, I never learned your names.” 

“Vernon Roche and this is my - ” he hesitated for a moment, unsure what to call the star he had essentially kidnapped. 

Fortunately, Iorveth picked up on his hesitation. “Iorveth. It’s a pleasure to meet all of you, but I must ask: how is that a bard has come to travel with a group of  _ vatt’ghern  _ as diverse as the one here?” 

“I started collecting them. They are my dearest friends and the world has been too cruel to them for too long so I do what I do best to fix the continent’s misconception of Witchers,” Jaskier said as if it were as simple as that. 

The truth was more complicated and sad so Jaskier always kept it to himself. 

The bard turned to the Witcher with the long white hair and whispered something to him that Vernon couldn’t hear. The Witcher looked at each of his compatriots before he nodded once. 

“Do what you do best, my dear, deadly little flower,” the Witcher perched on a tree branch called before jumping to the ground and landing gracefully on his feet. 

“You’re welcome to travel with us if you wish,” Jaskier offered. Several of the Witchers nodded their agreement. 

Vernon looked over to Iorveth who was eyeing the swords adorning each Witcher and the rapier at the bard’s hip. “What do you think?”

Iorveth took a deep breath. “I am being hunted by sorceresses intent on eating my heart. I wouldn’t want to bring trouble to you when you’ve all been so kind.”

Jaskier laughed, not unkindly, and gestured to the men around the fire. “Oh dear hearts, there is nowhere safer in all of Temeria than right here in our caravan. Nothing can harm you while you’re with us.” 

Iorveth nodded at Vernon. “Very well, but we have to make our wall to The Wall, if that interferes with your work, we’ll separate when we need to.” 

Upon hearing The Wall, obviously capitalized, Jaskier sat up straighter and looked at Vernon with something like wonder in his clear blue eyes. “You’re from beyond The Wall?” Jaskier hummed and rubbed a hand over his face. “How interesting.” 

Vernon didn’t ask what the bard found so interesting as none of the Witchers seemed to take an interest in the obvious change in Jaskier’s demeanour. If a bunch of Witchers who fought monsters for a living weren’t worried, he reckoned he didn’t have a reason to do so. 

“Fucking sorceresses,” the Witcher who had been up in the tree said with conviction. 

“Yeah, isn’t that right, Geralt? Fucking sorcheresses?” The white-haired Witcher took the ribbing from his opposite with a good-natured growl. 

“It was before the chaos disappeared. At least I didn’t fuck a succubus, Eskel.” Geralt shot back and pushed the scarred Witcher away. 

“What can I say? I’m a sucker for a chick with horns?” Eskel said with a shrug. 

It was during the banter that Vernon allowed himself to relax. It was like watching a group of siblings teasing each other. Big, heavily armed siblings, but siblings nonetheless. The teasing turned into a game of something that seemed to be the Witchers trying to one-up each other’s sexual exploits until the Jaskier shooed them off to their bedrolls except the two taking the first watch. 

Jaskier waved for both Vernon and Iorveth to follow him. “I noticed earlier that you both could use a change of clothes. I would have offered earlier but I didn’t think you wanted anyone near you.” 

He dug around in a large chest at the foot of a caravan until he seemed satisfied with what he found. “Iorveth, these may still be too big, you’re more slender than my Witchers, but Aiden seems to be the closest to your build. And for you, Vernon, I’d offer you some of my clothes but I don’t think you’d like that. You seem to be the type to want something you can freely move in and my silk doublets won’t allow for that, I’m afraid. Instead, I think one of Lambert’s old tunics will suffice. How have your pants survived?” 

Vernon was impressed by the sheer amount of words the bard seemed to be able to say in a minute. “Uh, they’re leather so they’re holding up well.” He took the shirt Jaskier offered him and gratefully changed into the dry shirt after being uncomfortably soaked for hours. He looked up to thank Jaskier just in time to see Iorveth drop the bathrobe he had been wearing since the encounter with the sorceress at the Inn. With that much pale skin on display, Vernon didn’t quite know what to do with himself. He wasn’t having a sexuality crisis - he knew he found men just as attractive as women. It was more of a morality crisis. He had promised to do what he could to provide for Triss and wanting to get his mouth on the faintly glowing skin and worshipping the absolutely glorious ass in front of him was making him forget about his promise - making him forget that he was to head to the capital to serve in the Emperor’s army for four years, provided he lived that long. 

It was a near miss, but he managed to stifle a whimper that tried to escape. He closed his eyes and tried to will away his growing erection.  _ This is  _ not  _ the time.  _

Jaskier caught his eye and winked at him. “I’ll take your wet clothes and hang them to dry. I’m afraid you’ll have to share, especially if you’d rather sleep in a caravan instead of outside. Normally we’d have more places to sleep, but all my dear Witchers are back with me right now.” 

“We’ll be fine,” Iorveth answered for them when it became obvious Vernon wasn’t going to respond. “I may stay up for a bit longer. Now that it’s not raining, it’s a nice night. And I don’t get to see the stars from this angle.” 

Vernon bit back a laugh and kept an eye on Iorveth as he sat on the edge of the caravan’s floor, close enough to touch if he stretched out. “Don’t stay up all night, if you can manage, Iorveth. This group doesn’t seem to be the kind to keep quiet so you can sleep while they travel.”

Iorveth hummed in response, looking up at the sky. “What do you suggest I do after you’ve had your Triss meet me? I don’t think I’ll ever get back into the sky now.” 

Even though he had his back to Vernon, he could hear the resignation in his voice and the defeated slump of his shoulders “I’m sure you could do whatever you want. You could have your own adventure now.” He crossed the small distance between them and sat next to Iorveth. 

Iorveth turned to face him and tugged the makeshift bandana off his head and pointed to his face. “This stupid jewel comes out of nowhere and smashes me in the face and knocks me from the sky and blinds me and I’m supposed to do what? Pretend it didn’t take away everything that made me a star? Stars are beautiful, Vernon and now I’m just - ruined.” 

Vernon couldn’t stop the wounded noise if he wanted to. He held Iorveth’s chin in one hand and wrapped his other around Iorveth’s wrist. “You’re not ruined, Iorveth. You’re  _ not _ . You’re still beautiful, but that’s not all you are, and don’t you ever say that again. Hear me?” 

Iorveth’s lower lip trembled and a tear fell down his angular cheek before he surged forward and buried his face in Vernon’s shoulder, quietly sobbing. He let Iorveth cry, figuring it was good for him to let his hurt out before it could do lasting emotional damage. “Is there anything you’ve always wanted to try?” he asked after Iorveth’s sobs stopped. “You said you’ve watched humanity for years. What have you always wished you could try?”

Iorveth sat up and wiped the tear tracks off his face. “I’ve always loved music. We have it, of course, but it’s more a - I don’t know. It’s not physical like it is here. I’d like to learn to play an instrument, to make music.” 

“Well, as we’ve agreed to travel with a bard, I think we can make that happen. Are you going to stay up longer or do you want to try and sleep?” 

“Think I’ll sleep.” The two of them crawled away from the open door and laid down on the double layer of bedrolls. “Good night, Vernon. Thank you.” 

“Any time, Iorveth,” he said before he collapsed face-first onto the bedroll only to get elbowed in the ribs by Iorveth until he turned onto his side. If he enjoyed how Iorveth bullied him until he was laying just how the star wanted him, who was here to judge him?


	7. The Hunt Continues to Go Poorly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As something keeps Iorveth and Roche hidden from both sorceresses and princes, they bond while surrounded by Witchers

Radovid came across his brother’s body as the sun began to rise over the hills. He turned to the Knights of the Order who had taken to following him as a protection detail. When we saw the tacky blue blood stuck to Foltest’s chest, he couldn’t help but shout in triumph. “I’m King!” he called down to the Knights who immediately dropped to their knees to bow. 

The rest of his brothers stood near Foltest's corpse, waiting on Radovid to realize his search wasn’t over yet. 

“Not yet, brother,” Foltest sneered at his youngest brother, his arms crossed over his naked chest - stuck as he had died until the crown adorned the head of one of royal blood. 

“Still can’t believe you didn’t see he had the stone, you dumb ox,” Stennis snarked at Foltest. “Instead you had to use father’s carriage as a euphemism for your cock. This is why you’re always getting into trouble.” 

“You were too stupid to stay away from an open window with our dear, deranged brother was in the same room,” Foltest snapped back. “We’re going to be stuck with him as King, aren’t we? No matter how long it takes him to catch up to the boy with the stone, he’s all we’ve got left.” 

“Temeria is doomed,” the brothers said as one while Radovid raged and tore through the remains of the Inn looking for the stone.

“It’s not here. How is it not fucking here? The runes said it was here!” 

One of the Knights came up to him, standing outside of the range of both his arm and his sword. “Your Highness, this one says he may know something.” 

Radovid took a deep breath and turned to the shaking boy all but held up by the knight. “Speak!” he barked at the boy when he didn’t immediately relay what he knew. 

“The man, y-your brother. He said something about a stone. The man with the cut on his face had this necklace with this big clear stone on it. He got away with the other one, just disappeared in a flash.” 

“Fuck!” Radovid swore at the skies. “They could be anywhere now if they had a teleportation crystal.” 

“There’s more sir,” the boy piped up meekly. “This was a trap set for him. But your brother came into it too and the woman s-she -” he pointed to the tub with Foltest’s body. 

Radovid figured he’d have to leave one of his Knights behind to deal with the mess, at least get the body sent back to Vizima. Maybe he’d send the head to La Valette Castle to see if he could hear their screams from the Royal Palace. “What did the woman do?” he prompted when the boy fell silent again. 

“She had a knife. She was going to cut out his heart and -” he turned around and dashed away. He made it a few yards before he bent over and vomited at the reminder of what he had seen. 

Radovid turned his attention to the Knights of the Order. “Do you know what this means? The woman was going to eat his heart - the stone and a star all at once. I could be king forever.” He stalked back down the hill to where he had left his horse. “The heart of a star replenishes your life, when you don’t have magic to steal it from you, it will extend it well beyond normal years. I could literally be king forever if I wanted.” 

“King forever?” Foltest repeated as he and his deceased brothers were compelled to follow the last surviving male heir as he plotted how to get his hands on the star carrying the Lily. 

\----

Francesca was speaking to her sisters on the xenovox again, agitated. “They still say the same thing: he has vanished.” 

She smacked her hand on the plush seat of the royal carriage being driven by magic. “That’s impossible. He can’t have just ‘vanished’.” 

Even though her runes were telling her the same thing, she knew they had to be missing something. There was no way the star could simply vanish, especially when he was traveling with a mere human with no extraordinary power. 

“Let me know as soon as he surfaces. He can’t hide from us forever,” she ordered and tossed the xenovox on the seat opposite her. She waved her hand to slow the carriage - no use killing the horses if she had no idea where to go. She gasped at the sheer exhaustion she felt after using nothing but a small spark of magic. Part of her wondered how long she had left - she could feel her powers draining already. “If we don’t find him soon…” she didn’t finish her thought, just clenched her hand into a fist and ignored the creak of arthritis in her joints. 

\----

Even though he was tired, still not used to being up during the day, Iorveth couldn’t say he hated it. The Witchers were sparring with each other even as the caravan moved steadily southeast. The Witcher with the facial scars and the kind amber eyes was teaching Vernon proper swordsmanship. 

Jaskier, on the other hand, was seated next to him picking at a tune on his lute while he explained notes, chord progression, scales, and everything that seemed to come to mind. “I’m best at the lute, but if you don’t want to deal with numb fingertips until you develop the right calluses, I suggest we wait until we get to town and find you something else.” 

Vesemir, the oldest of the Witchers, cleared his throat quietly to get their attention. “Please, for the sake of an old man, please don’t play the lute, Little Star,” before he clicked his tongue and his horse a light trot, putting him at the front of their line of caravans. 

Iorveth felt icy fear spread through his chest before Jaskier put a hand on his arm. “You’re safe here, Iorveth. They probably knew right away. Their senses are more acute than normal humans. You probably smell like something celestial. But, uh, if you’re trying to keep it a secret, it’s best to keep the  _ Hen Llinge  _ to a minimum,” he suggested quietly so that they could speak privately - or as much as they could while surrounded by people with enhanced senses. 

“How do you know the language of the stars?” Iorveth asked, surprised. 

Jaskier blushed and ran a hand through his hair. “Well, you see. My name is actually Julian Pankratz. I’m a viscount, or I was until I chose not to go back to Lettenhove after I finished my degree. I was given the best education a Count could afford, which was very  _ extensive _ we’ll say.” 

Iorveth could sense that there was more to the story than that, but he knew Jaskier owed him no explanation. He was distracted from his musings by the sunlight reflecting off the practice sword in Vernon’s hand as he spun around and allowed the flat part of the dull blade to make contact with Eskel’s ribs. 

He clapped excitedly and watched the feral grin spread across the human’s face as something seemed to shift in the air around him. It was subtle, but it was like he finally believed he could handle the sword, that he wasn’t worthless with it like he had said numerous times that morning.

“He seems to be getting the hang of it,” Jaskier said, watching the lesson too even as his hands went back to his lute and he began to play again. “If he can hold his own against Eskel, I’m sure he’ll be more than prepared for four years as a soldier.” 

Iorveth bit his lip. “I don’t want him to. I wish there was a way to get him out of it. But he explained conscription to me. I’ll worry about him, even if I never see him again, I think I’ll always worry about him.” 

Jaskier’s fingers slipped off the strings. “I’m sorry, you’re  _ not _ lovers? I was so sure -” the last bit was whispered to himself, probably not meant for Iorveth to hear. 

“What made you think we were - we were lovers?” he asked and felt his face flare up with a blush. 

“Besides Aiden muttering about he could smell the attraction? I have eyes, Iorveth. You two can’t keep your eyes off each other.” 

Iorveth shook his head and frowned. “I wish you were right, my friend, but I think you’ve been writing too many love songs. He’s on a mission to get a betrothal gift for someone else.” 

Jaskier shook his head in disbelief. “But - but -” he huffed out a breath and pouted like the idea of himself and Vernon not being together ruined some part of his life. He continued to mutter to himself until the caravan slowed to a halt. “Would you like to come with me? I need a good argument and Sabrina never fails to deliver.” 

Iorveth followed a few paces behind the flamboyant bard as he and a few of the Witchers brought heavy hides into the trader. 

“I’ve got a dozen full slyzard hides and you want to offer 100 orens for each? You’re having me on,” Jaskier was leaning over the counter, face set in a frown as he stared down at a woman who was frowning as if she had sucked on a lemon. 

Iorveth could only stare as Jaskier went from carefree and lighthearted to shrewd and unyielding. It was like watching some kind of sporting match as they shot numbers back and forth at each other until Jaskier seemed to have enough and called for the Witchers to return the hides to the caravan. 

The negotiations started back up with Sabrina finally relenting to Jaskier’s demand of 200 orens per hide. With how big and dangerous they had been, Iorveth could understand why Jaskier wouldn’t relent to a lower offer. 

While the Witchers brought the hides through the back door of the shop, Iorveth felt his blood freeze in his veins when Sabrina leaned in closer to Jaskier and whispered “so is there any truth to the rumors? A star has fallen in Temeria? Everyone’s been talking about it.”

Jaskier was a fantastic actor, Iorveth decided. While he was sure his panic was visible on his face, Jaskier gave nothing away. “A fallen star?” 

“Yeah,” Sabrina said with a wistful sigh. “Imagine getting your hands on one of those. We could shut up the shop and retire. So, you or your Witchers heard anything? It’s the talk of the market.” 

“Which market?” Jaskier asked, sounding uninterested, but Iorveth could see his knuckles turn white. 

Vernon came up on his good side and pulled him into his side. Iorveth could feel some of his tension evaporate with the warmth Vernon radiated. “Relax,” he breathed to Iorveth and squeezed him closer. 

“The market at The Wall, of course.” 

Jaskier snorted inelegantly and examined his fingernails. “I wouldn’t listen to gossip if I were you, Sabrina. Especially from scum-sucking - ah! Speak of the devil!” 

“Yeah, what were you saying then?” another voice said from the open door to the shop. 

“Fringilla!” Jaskier said with mock joy. “We were just talking about what a wonderful woman you were.” 

The old woman, Fringilla, tucked a birdcage under her arm and shuffled further into the shop. The ornate cage caught Iorveth’s exposed side but the woman either didn’t notice or she didn’t care. “Excuse me,” Iorveth muttered, loud enough for Fringilla to hear as she passed but not loud enough for anyone else but Vernon to hear. 

Jaskier said his goodbyes to the women in the fence's shop and walked Iorveth and Vernon back to the caravan. “You two stay right here with the wagons, I’ve got something I need to do. Won’t be but a moment. The Witchers won’t leave until they’ve made sure Sabrina and Fringilla didn’t short us for the hides. I’ll be back before they’re done.” 

Vernon laughed as they watched Jaskier walk backward until he nearly tripped over a harassed looking chicken who clucked angrily at him. “What was with that older woman ignoring you? It was like she didn’t see you at all.”

“You noticed that too? At first, I thought it was just me, but she didn’t even notice. The poor bird in the cage did though.” Iorveth tried his best to put the strange encounter out of his mind and focus on the warm feeling radiating out from his chest when he realized he and Vernon were still walking side by side and his arm was still wrapped around Iorveth’s waist to keep him close. He wouldn’t read anything into it,  _ couldn’t _ , not when Vernon had so much riding on his chances with Triss. It was nice though, just to have what they did - the closeness was exhilarating even if he couldn't have it forever. 

They sat together on the bench seat of the caravan they had slept in the last two nights and enjoyed the sunshine and the busy hum of the Witchers as they hurried to pack everything up before Jaskier got back. 

Iorveth didn’t notice he fell asleep against Vernon’s shoulder until he was woken up by Jaskier calling his name. “I’ve got you something. If you two are going to Wall, we’re going to have to split up much earlier than I’d like to, we’ve got a contract in the opposite direction I’m afraid. This is for you to remember us by.” 

Iorveth unrolled the heavy fabric and a beautifully carved flute rolled onto his lap. “Jask - I -” he shook his head and held the flute up to his lips. It sounded soft and warm - it was everything he wanted from music. “I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done.” 

Jaskier tutted and waved the thanks away. “Just promise me that you’ll let yourself learn to play it.” He was moved out of the way by Lambert and Aiden who handed over a pair of thin glass spheres filled with a silvery blue liquid. “These are Dimeritium Bombs. If you’re being hunted by sorceresses that are capable of using magic, you’ll need these. We wouldn’t want our Little Star to be in trouble.” Lambert said and left to let Aiden explain to Vernon how to use them. 

Vernon took his dry shirt from the line and carefully wrapped the bombs before he stored them in his pack to protect them. While he did that, the Witchers all took turns to say goodbye to them and promised to dissuade any rumors of fallen stars to keep them safe in their travels. 

Just as the caravan was taking off, the horses pulling the wagons towards a contract of a massive nest of necrophages, Jaskier pulled Vernon aside for a moment and whispered something in his ear. “Just something to think about!” he called over his shoulder before he slung his lute and started at the chorus of ‘Toss A Coin’ much to the mock complaints of his friends. 

“What did Jaskier say to you?” Iorveth asked when they had made it to a fork in the road. 

“He was just giving me tips on how to haggle, and what the things they gave us to trade with are worth so we don’t get cheated,” Vernon answered, his focus on the sign at the fork. “We’ve got to go this way.” 

“Wall 20 miles. How long will that take?” 

Vernon shrugged. “Two days?” 

“We don’t have  _ two days, _ Vernon. You’ve only got another full day before you’re to leave for the capital and get me to Triss,” Iorveth said, worried they wouldn’t be able to make it in time. No matter his own feelings, he wanted Vernon to be happy more than anything. 

“Oh yeah,” he said absently as if he had forgotten that he had a deadline, or that his entire reason for being beyond The Wall was to prove his commitment to Triss. “We’ll figure something out.” He pulled a delicate glass flower from the ties in his shirt and showed it to Iorveth. “This is a Temerian Lily. My father said that my mother sold it to him for a kiss and told him it would bring luck. I think, all things considered, I’ve been pretty lucky since I got beyond The Wall.” Without another word, he tucked the flower back up into the laces and started along the road with a bounce in his step. 

\----

The moment they separated from the Witchers caravan they left the protective atmosphere of something older than magic. In that instant, both Radovid and Francesca's rune stones began to work again. 

The hunt was back on.


End file.
